For everyone on the Brandling Estate, the three months after their Newmarket triumph became the most chaotic, the most worrying, the most exciting, the most definitive months they would ever know.
After Trafalgar’s massive success as a three-year-old, Jack Wetherley, Sir Oswald Brandling and Alf Winter had come to the joint decision that their champion thoroughbred would not run in in the prestigious Epsom Derby, the epitome of flat race Classics.
Victor Lazenby, a local respected vet, had indicated that the apparent discomfort Trafalgar showed in his left front cannon, just below the knee, might not be serious but, as he said, “If it was aggravated he might never race again. Best give the beast a good rest. By God, from what I hear, he deserves it.”
“Oh, wonderful, I can be his nurse,” Becky had enthused after the initial disappointment. Her eyes had clouded as she whispered to Jack during one of their passionate, if illicit, clinches, “Gives me more excuse to be close to you.”
She was Sir Oswald’s orphaned niece, and as a commoner, Jack should have had no part in her life. But they had been avid lovers since her arrival on the Brandling Estate, a year earlier. Only Alf was party to their liaison and had been so helpful in ensuring their continued secrecy.
But other events were set to disturb their secure intimacy. Only two weeks after the Newmarket triumph, Lord Duckham, racehorse trainer to the Prince Regent, true to his word, had labourers on the Brandling Estate, digging out foundations for the new stable block intended eventually to house up to twenty horses.
Jack had been overwhelmed by Lord Duckham’s initial offer and later, what Sir Oswald had told them. Apparently, after Trafalgar’s victory at Doncaster the previous October, Lord Duckham, had indicated that should Trafalgar perform well in the guineas race at Newmarket, he would consider Jack becoming his deputy.
More importantly, knowing that the Prince needed horses stabled further north to avoid unnecessary long journeys to valuable races up there. Brandling Estate, with abundant spare ground, was an ideal location.
More than anything as far as Jack, Alf and even Becky, were concerned it explained what they had seen as strange behaviour from Sir Oswald since last October
As deputy to Lord Duckham, Jack would have charge of the new stables. Initially, the idea had worried him, but Lord Duckham had reassured him that his impressive handling of a 2000 guineas success, plus his reputation as a true horse lover, made him ideal for the post. His Lordship had been even more impressed on learning that Jack could read.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” he had enthused, “you will be able to keep abreast of any rising trends in the sport.” Then laughing his deep laugh, he added, “As well as any gossip.”
The first ten labourers arrived on the estate in mid-May, to dig the foundations for the new stables. First, they erected tarpaulin living quarters under trees a hundred yards north of the marked mile track, and Lord Duckham provided funds for the kitchens at the rear of the mansion to provide food for them.
Sir Oswald with, Becky, his niece, visited the stables to tell Jack and Alf, “By the time the foundations are done, there could be upwards of thirty men working on the estate. Lord Duckham expects it all completed by the end of August, when your new stock, maybe ten thoroughbreds will arrive.”
As Sir Oswald was talking, Jack could not stop himself from glancing at Becky. Maybe it was the troubled thoughts about the disruption to their intimate encounters, that gave her a more alluring look. Her dark hair loose, her face aglow, she was bewitching in the blue-flowered close-fitting dress she wore. In Becky’s case, neatly petite as her bosom was, she always appeared to pressure her dress most appealingly.
“We may have to be patient in our meeting,” he had whispered to her when Sir Oswald moved across to where the men were digging.
“Why?” she asked, her lovely face clouding.
He told her how, having so many workers all over the grounds was going to be a problem for their warm assignations.
“Well, the weather’s getting warmer. We’ll always have our cosy starting place.”
Jack knew she was referring to the tree-enclosed lakeside spot where she had first, almost brazenly, given herself to him. He felt sorry to have to remind her that it could only be temporary since part of the plan was to construct a training circuit right around the lake for the longer distance horses.
With a hopeless shake of her head, and a little giggle she said, “I’ll just have to smuggle you up to my bedroom.” Seeing Sir Oswald returning with Alf, she whispered, “Wouldn’t that be fun?” And she hurried across to the enclosure where the two thoroughbreds stood, noses over the fence
Sir Oswald brushed at a little dust on his jacket sleeve, as he looked towards where his niece was patting the muzzles of the two horses. The chestnut of Trafalgar glowed beside the black hide of the newest purchase, the two-year-old, Nelson’s Pride.
“Alf tells me that you’re considering racing earlier as a two-year-old than you did with Trafalgar.” Sir Oswald said, and he chuckled, “Is that so he doesn’t become too distracted by my niece?”
Becky made a little growling noise in her throat before responding, “It didn’t do Trafalgar any harm, did it?”
“Only joking, my dear. Only joking. He looks in good fettle, anyway.”
Jack had enjoyed the little exchange between Becky and her uncle, and said, “Since he is developing well, and since by the end of August we could have maybe another dozen thoroughbreds to deal with, I’m thinking that way, yes.”
Sir Oswald nodded, “Don’t forget though that there will be extra stable staff arriving.” He clicked his tongue, “I believe that Lord Duckham is dealing with those arrangements, accommodation etcetera. May need extra building elsewhere in the ground.”
“Out of sight?” Becky queried.
Her uncle nodded, “Yes, your aunt has declared that we don’t want a barrack building in clear view.” He paused, before looking at Jack and saying, “Alf and I have been discussing our daily rides out. I’m rather concerned about Rebecca riding alone with so many unknowns around.”
Becky gave her uncle a fiery look, as she declared, “I can look after myself.”
Sir Oswald was about to respond when Alf said quickly, “I’ve suggested to the Major that you might be prepared to accompany m’lady, Jack.”
Bloody clever, Alf, Jack was thinking. He understood Jack and Becky’s situation. Becky looked slightly startled, as her uncle looked at Jack, “Would you mind doing that, Jack? Would you have time?”
Would he? Oh, God, what a question. Without looking at Becky, he replied, “Well, sir, I believe your wish to keep m’lady from harm is very wise. I’ll try to find a niche in my time.”
“I’d be grateful for that,” Sir Oswald told him. “Now, come along Becky, leave these gentlemen to get on with the important work.”
Jack tried to interpret the wicked gleam in her eyes as she followed her uncle more obediently than usual.
Alf suggested, with a broad smile on his wrinkled face, that Jack’s terrible task of accompanying Becky be done after his own ride with Sir Oswald. “Just to avoid any complications.”
So, the next day, as labourers dug the surprisingly long area for the foundations of the new stables, Jack waited, keeping his anticipation in check. Rascal his own beloved horse, and Becky’s Ebony were both saddled and ready. Alf returned, leading Sir Oswald’s mount Charger, and as he lowered himself cautiously from the chestnut he preferred, he grumbled, “Oh, my bloody back’s killing me.”
Jack treated him to a grin as he said, “I hope you’re not getting old, Alf.”
Alf growled as he began to brush down the horses, “I hope you’re not getting too big for your boots, lad.” But he returned the grin as he added, “Just because you’re in Prinny’s favour, doesn’t mean I couldn’t kick your arse.”
“Prinny?”
“That’s what everybody calls him. Too much of a mouthful, the Prince Regent. You going to give me a hand here?”
Jack loosely tethered the two horses and picked up a brush. He had just begun working on the lathered Charger when Becky’s cheery voice greeted them as she appeared from the side of the stable away from where the labourers were working.
“Oh, work stops,” Alf moaned.
Jack getting his usual glow when she appeared, was quick and delighted to note she wore the dress that he knew unfastened quickly, her brown eyes sparkled as she said, “I’ll pet Trafalgar while you finish.”
Without stopping their brushing, both men watched her as she moved to the fence, beyond which, Trafalgar and Nelson’s Pride were grazing. It had always fascinated them how Trafalgar had taken to Becky, a fact that in the early days, when the thoroughbred had been more recalcitrant, had been a big help.
As soon as she reached the fence, Trafalgar was there poking his noble muzzle towards her, and right alongside him, the jet-black Nelson’s Pride appeared to poke his muzzle for a touch of her hand.
“You’ll be knowing how they feel,” Alf chuckled.
Brushing done the two riding horses were returned to the larger paddock to join the rest of the stock. Jack had helped Becky mount Ebony, mainly to ensure her skirt did not reveal too much to the labourers.
He mounted Rascal, after giving him an affectionate scrub between the ears. As he urged his horse to follow Becky on Ebony, Alf with a lop-sided smile on his face, hissed, “Ride carefully, mind.”
Jack grimaced in his direction, and then trotted Rascal after Becky. Side by side, they rode down the slope towards the lake.
“Any ideas?” Becky’s glance across at him told him, without any doubt, that she had, like him, very lascivious ideas.
Jack laughed, “Very short. Lakeside.”
Within minutes they had tethered the horses, so they were also out of sight, and were standing on the grassy slope where they had first committed to each other.
Jack wandered to the water’s edge where the ripples lapped gently near his feet. He stooped, picked up a flat stone and skimmed it over the surface. It skipped three times before disappearing. “I can never get more than three,” he moaned, and without looking around asked, “Would you like to have a go?”
The seductive voice from behind him should have warned him, “Would you?”
Turning, his breath caught in his throat, and his heart leapt like an excited puppy as he viewed Becky lying, supported on her elbows. Her dress was completely open and thrown back to reveal those wonderful breasts, the flat belly and the subtle black patch where her thighs met. Those thighs parted, showing the pinkness, and she reached down to place her fingers there, before huskily asking, “Is this the niche you told my uncle you’d try to find?”
Trying to keep his masculine cool, Jack stepped towards and told her, “I was talking about time.”
Her thighs opened wider, and she giggled, “So here you are, my love. Take your time.”
Jack bent to lie beside her, but she held up a restraining hand, “I hope you aren’t going to rub those rough breeches along my delicate parts. Ah, if only you had something to please me.”
Jack had already kicked off his footwear and, on his knees, was struggling out of his breeches. As soon as his aching hardness sprang into view, Becky squealed, “Ooh, yes, that’ll do nicely.” She reached out, and now Jack groaned as she wrapped her fingers around his cock, pulling him down, dominant, directing him towards that pink wonderland that he’d come to know so well.
Jack had hoped for a little gamahuche, but he was already aware that, two or three days of celibacy, or when she was overexcited (as at Newmarket), Becky had no time for foreplay and needed him inside her without delay. Jack had little argument with that, since the tension in his balls warned of his own readiness.
Holding him poised at her creamily moist entry, Becky gasped, “Has to be in me, Jack.”
Her gasp became an immediate groan of pleasure as his rod slid so easily into her, and that immediate mutual thrusting and heaving began. Jack was sure she had full muscular control up inside her, as her walls closed in upon his shaft and there was a subtle pinching at his cockhead.
Even though her hips were twitching to encourage his thrusts, Jack still felt compelled to slide his hands under her buttocks to lift her. Becky wrapped her legs around him and she moaned her initial disappointment as Jack slowly drew his shaft back along her ever-leaking channel, but he delighted in hearing it become a squeal of joy as he thrust hard and long up to collide with her cervix.
Trying to maintain a kiss was difficult as, increasingly, Becky’s wildly passionate urgings had her tossing her head from side to side. But kissing became irrelevant as they each thrust more and more wildly at each other where they joined. Jack was sure Becky had already had one orgasm, her clenching and squealing had signalled that. But, as far as he was concerned, the finale was upon them.
For seconds, growling, groaning and moaning they pounded their hips together. Jack had tried to hang on, but, almost without warning, he felt himself spurting his seed inside Becky. That ejaculation had come with a might thrust into her, and it had been enough to set Becky, bucking and squealing, to her own mighty climax.
Soon, they were lying, sweat coated, breathing only just returning to normal. Becky giggled as she said, “You are a very noisy lover when you fill me.”
Jack laughed, and kissed her, before replying, “Oh, listen to you. You squealed like a rabbit in a snare. Only louder.”
Their happiness together led to Jack entering her once more and this time it was a good, slow, deliberate communion of their bodies. Then, totally spent, they took their obligatory ride around the lake, and Becky dismounted at the manor. After a quick look around, she gave Jack a swift kiss. Hurried towards the rear entrance, before looking back, and with a laugh in her voice, called, “We must do that again sometime, Mr Wetherley.”
Jack feeling very happy rode Rascal back to the stables leading Ebony behind him.
That ‘sometime’ happened with some regularity, and, if the weather held good, Jack and Becky were able at first use their lakeside location for loving encounters. Occasionally they rode to the Bascombe hills beyond the village, where there were two leaning rocks giving good cover to eager lovers.
All during May, large carts each drawn by four large dray horses arrived to off-load tons of red bricks and sacks containing the lime that would be used for the mortar that would bind the bricks together. ack and Alf continued to work with Nelson’s Pride, who was turning into a very promising prospect. A couple of times Alf mounted up on the black thoroughbred, while Jack was on Trafalgar, and they had a gentle canter over the mile trip. The purpose was mainly to strengthen Trafalgar back to full fitness after resting him for a few weeks on the vet’s advice.
When he was available, Nate Oliver, visited to have a more positive ride on the black stallion. For this season they would concentrate on the six furlong’s distance. Nate reminded Jack of the advice they’d had when training Trafalgar, about it best to let him be developed gradually. Nate advised not racing the black until early September.
Nate was the jockey who, as well as giving Trafalgar superb rides up to and including the two thousand guineas success, had proved to be a valuable friend. He expressed his amazement at how the place was changing. By the time of his first visit in early June, the walls of the new stables were past the half-way mark, and it was possible to appreciate the much wider area they covered compared with the existing stable. There seemed to be labourers and bricklayers everywhere.
He had started trying to count the workforce one day but had given up at about forty. “They won’t bloody stand still,” he complained.
One June afternoon, Sir Oswald came across, flanked, as usual, by Becky. He was clutching what looked like a letter in his hand. Nate was present, having given Nelson’s Pride a second ride.
After greeting them with a wide smile and regarding and remarking on the advancement in the building work, Sir Oswald held up the letter and said, “I’ve received this today from Lord Duckham, and my niece told me that you would be here, Nate. So, this is highly appropriate.” He handed the letter towards Nate, “Even more natural that you read it.”
Nate’s face, prematurely wrinkled by several years of dieting to keep his weight at good racing level, looked crestfallen, “I can’t read, sir. Never learned.”
“No matter,” Sir Oswald said, “Just as appropriate that the man who will be head of this stable and will give the ultimate decision should read it out. Jack?”
Jack, a little surprised, and rather troubled by Nate’s embarrassment, took the letter from Sir Oswald. Immediately he noticed the official Royal crest on the head of the missive. Then, clearing his throat he began to read.
“I, as Head horse trainer to his Highness, Prince Regent George, would like to, with his Highness’s blessing, offer the post of Royal jockey to Mr Nathaniel Oliver. This would entail riding all the Prince’s horses trained at the newly established Brandling Stables. Plus, any other Royal mounts that I may deem necessary. The offer rests upon two factors, the first being that the prospective trainer at the Brandling Stables agrees with the appointment, and the second that Mr Oliver is prepared to accept the terms attached to the post.”
There were some closing comments about contracts and the letter was signed by Lord Duckham. During his reading, Jack thought he had heard an, “Oh, my God,” from Nate and a delighted, “Yip,” from Alf. As he looked up it was wonderful to see the broad smile on Becky’s lovely face.
He saw the tears on Nate’s face as Sir Oswald asked, “And does the head trainer of Brandling stables agree to this appointment?”
Jack held out a hand to Nate, “Sir, there is no jockey in the whole world that I would rather have riding any horse I might have charge of. There are few men I would regard as a better friend.” And then he and Nate were embracing.
“All my career I’ve hoped—I’ve wished—” Nate’s voice choked with emotion.
“So, you accept then.” Sir Oswald laughed.
“I do, sir, I do.”
Then Alf was slapping his back and telling him what a pleasure it was going to be to have him permanently around. After Sir Oswald shook Nate’s hand, Becky held out her hand and muttered how pleased she was for him, and then, because they were of equal height, it seemed quite natural for her to give him a peck on the cheek.
Jack thought of how Becky’s influence had changed the social conventions around the place. That, and the success of Trafalgar seemed to have drawn them all into a melting pot of equality. Alf called her Becky when it would always be, ‘m’lady’. Sir Oswald talked to and greeted Jack and Alf as good friends and not as the underclass they might have been elsewhere.
By mid-July all the brickwork on the new stables was complete. Timbers formed the triangle framework of the roof and men were busy laying the slates up there, while others were working on the timber fittings that would be part of each of the twenty stalls.
Becky had commented on the elongated shape of these new stables, but as the work had progressed she had seen that unlike the present stables the stalls for each horse would be out-facing, with a half and half door. “Oh, that’ll be wonderful.” She had enthused. “I’ll be able to go along a row and stroke all the muzzles.”
The pace of everything was astounding. Sir Oswald visited more regularly, often to view the progress of Nelson’s Pride, and the recovery of Trafalgar, but frequently to watch and praise the bricklayers and carpenters at the speedy development.
“Have you seen the accommodation block they’re putting up beyond the trees over there?” he asked, pointing over the green space at the rear of the mansion to where a fringe of trees began. “They’re more than half-way to finishing the brickwork. Lord Duckham promised rapid work and by God, we’re getting that.”
“Not only that, Major,” Alf said, “they’re well on with the development of the practice circuit around the lake. Needed widening in places.”
“Wonderful,” Sir Oswald observed enthusiastically, “we’ll be well prepared for the horses from the royal stables by the end of August.”
That familiar uncertain feeling came over Jack whenever he was faced with the prospect of something new, and he was feeling it now, as he asked, “Won’t Lord Duckham want to inspect the site before then?”
Sir Oswald gave a snorting laugh, “Almost like a directive. He’s let me know that he’ll be here on the 17th of the month on his way to visit Lord Westmoreland at Windemere”
There was much sadness in seeing their lakeside love-nest being stripped of all trees and shrubs. One of the foremen attempted to explain that, leaving it, would create an unnecessarily difficult ‘hump’ in the track.
Jack and Becky had made the “innocent” horse rides to other places around the estate, but none had been as convenient or as accommodating as the twin stones on Bascombe Hills. So, it was the twin stones that favoured much of their lovemaking.
Then came the shock on that August day, two days before Lord Duckham’s visit, that they rode side by side towards the Bascombe Hills. Jack was just a little concerned that Becky had seemed unusually quiet. She had exchanged some views about how Lord Duckham would react to the development for the royal horses. But other than that, her silence had begun to worry Jack.
This wasn’t the bubbly, happy Becky that he’d loved since their first meeting. Something was upsetting her. Quickly tethering the horses, they sat close together between the sheltering rocks. Jack kissed her gently, her response was warm. but as she pulled away he asked, “Has something bothered you?”
Her eyes were so tearful as she looked into his, “Oh, Jack. You know how I’ve told you regular I am. Four weeks unfailing?”
Something tightened in Jack’s chest, as a ragged sob escaped her lips, “Seven weeks it’s been. Oh, Jack, I’m pregnant.”
